


But Touch My Tears

by Plainxte



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Introspection, M/M, Open Ending, Pining, Songfic, Sort Of, sort of soulmates, soul connection - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26281477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plainxte/pseuds/Plainxte
Summary: It wasn't supposed to be possible. It wasn't supposed to happen.There were stories. Tales of a perfect connection between two people. But they weren't true. Were they?He couldn't let go of the thought. When the loneliness weighed on him, when the endless dark nights in his cellar flat got too much, it kept returning and plaguing him.
Relationships: Brian May/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 14
Kudos: 25
Collections: Maycury_Week_2020





	But Touch My Tears

**Author's Note:**

> TW: A part of this story takes place in a rather cramped, confined space (the second section), and it contains a brief (not very graphic) description of an illness towards the end. Read safely!
> 
> The prompt for this was _Who Wants to Live Forever._

**

It was never meant to be.

There were stories. Tales of a perfect connection between two people. Perfect understanding. Knowing what the other one was feeling, or even thinking. People whispered about healing. And about love, of course.

It wasn't supposed to be possible. It wasn't supposed to be true.

Particularly not the healing part.

The government was strict about that. Fantastic tales were all very well. As long as that's all they were. But trust in them? Only a fool would.

And Brian didn't. Not really. His scientific mind wouldn't let him. But he caught himself wondering. What if there was something behind the persistent stories? Everyone knew, for example, that during the endless line of disasters in the last years, they had all been subjected to large amounts of radiation (even if no one in the government wanted to talk about it, or even to acknowledge it). And they still were, of course. What if that – to take just one possible explanation – what if it had caused something that no one could have foreseen? Was it impossible that there was a perfectly valid explanation for what people were whispering about? Only that those in power didn't want it investigated?

If it did exist, it could potentially make an enormous difference to a lot of people's lives. Open up enormous possibilities. Perhaps even pave the way back to something like what existed in the time Before. Before it all went to hell. Before the entire fabric of society unravelled, leaving behind it only ruins, and sad little clusters of survivors trying to keep on, in some way, from day to day.

In fact, the stories were so insistent that Brian found it difficult to believe that some team of scientists somewhere hadn't made a proper study of it, conducted proper scientific research into the matter. Government ukase or not. But at the end of the day, it wasn't his field of research. Not his business. And he tried to stop wondering about it.

But the lure of the thought itself was strong. In his more candid moments, Brian admitted that to himself. It fascinated him. The idea of someone understanding how you felt. Seeing you. Not turning away from you. Someone who would be on your side. A missing part of yourself.

He knew it wasn't really a very healthy way of thinking about it. All those expectations, and all that weight on another's shoulders. 

But when the loneliness weighed on him, when the endless dark nights in his cellar flat (the name was too grandiose for the misery of it) got too much, the thought kept returning and plaguing him.

Just think about it. Having someone to hold on to. Another part of your – well, your soul. Even if the stories did say that a deep connection like that between two people usually lasted only for a moment. They were said to burn out quickly. It was all very poetic. But what if? And still – it had to be better, didn't it? To have known a perfect moment – even if it ended? Better than not having had it at all.

**

The tube train clanked through the darkness underground. The few lights in the carriage flickered and went off – and then back on again – no, off – and then when everyone was holding their breath and fearing for the worst – thankfully, on again. And the journey went on. Even in these days, some parts of the old network still worked, after a fashion, most of the time. And it was easier to chance the tube than to negotiate one's way across the blasted concrete wasteland above.

Brian caught the eye of a young man sitting in a seat across from him. He looked to be approximately of an age with him. Dark hair, dark expressive eyes. He looked familiar, somehow. High cheekbones and full lips. Brian looked away, not wanting to be accused of staring. The lights flickered once more, and when they came on again, Brian found the other one's eyes still locked on his own. 

What was it about him? Brian had the feeling he should know him, although he couldn't place him. Something about the way that the man kept shifting minutely, restlessly. It seemed as familiar to Brian as the back of his own hand. Or of the other's hand, perhaps. Brian looked at the other's long, graceful fingers. The way the man was fidgeting, never completely still, it seemed like something he was so used to that he didn't even need to think about it. Somehow it felt like Brian had known him forever. His name was just at the tip of his tongue.

And then, when they were just a couple of minutes from the next station, the brakes suddenly screeched. There was a bright flash of sparks somewhere outside the carriage. And the train ground shakily to a halt, jerking, throwing everyone out of balance and off their feet. The lights went out, inexorably, finally. All was darkness.

There was a cut-off scream from somewhere to the front of the now dark carriage. Brian found he'd somehow ended up halfway on the floor, with only his elbows resting on the seat. His legs were tangled up in a muddle on the carriage floor (he tried his best not to think about what he was actually sitting in), one ankle twisted under himself, and no idea where his clogs had got to. A tiny bit of light came from somewhere to the side; perhaps some of the old emergency lights were working. He exhaled shakily, trying to feel around in the darkness for his bag.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," a voice said, suddenly, from somewhere close by. "Would you mind – do you think? I think all my things have got tangled up in yours. It all flew every which way when we stopped." It was a pleasant voice, with a slightly uncertain note in it.

It had to be the man who was sitting across from him. The one who was so familiar, and yet not. They had both been thrown to the floor, it seemed like. Brian thought he caught a fleeting whiff of a scent that was far removed from the usual odours of the train: something vaguely spicy…? It was definitely something else than the usual soot and dirt overlaid with the sharp smell of electricity. It had to be the other man, who seemed to be much closer to him in the darkness than he had realised. It was comforting. Calming, somehow. Much nicer to think about that than about how long it would take before they would get moving again.

"I think this is yours?" The voice spoke, startling Brian from his reverie. 

"Oh, right," Brian said, taking hold of the bag that the other man was dangling in front of his face. "Thanks," he added belatedly, shuffling to try to get his feet back under him. "Any idea where my shoes have strayed?"

"Sorry, not the faintest." The stranger sounded amused, now. "You wouldn't happen to have my scarf there, would you?"

There was a rustle of clothing as he leaned closer, feeling cautiously along the floor. And then the other's fingers touched the bare skin of his wrist. It was clearly an accident, just something that happened when you couldn't see what you were doing.

It felt like an electric shock. Or like the burn when you accidentally touched a hot stove. The fingers against Brian's skin jerked and then pressed back in, like they couldn't help themselves.

The sharp indrawn breath could have come from either of them.

In that moment, Brian knew the other man. Knew him better and deeper than he had ever known anyone else. He had a suspicion he never would, either. He couldn't say how or why, or what exactly had happened. He only knew that his world had shifted, and nothing would ever be the same again.

He felt the other person's mind against his own; bright, curious, moving swiftly, like a bird, perhaps, restless and quick. He saw a glimpse of the other's hopes and dreams: a longing for love and connection that eerily echoed his own; an appreciation for music and for art, and for beauty. It blossomed into an answering warmth inside him. It was like a melody that he had both always known and never heard before. There was sadness like a dark undercurrent running through the other's mind, too, and a fear of loneliness that was so familiar that Brian could almost taste it.

They breathed, together. In the same rhythm.

Brian didn't know how long it would have gone on, if the carriage hadn't shuddered beneath their feet. The train came back to life with a groan, starting to hum again as the power came back on.

"Oh, thank god," someone sniffled, somewhere to their left, as the lights stuttered and then stayed on.

Brian blinked at the sudden brightness. He found himself kneeling on the floor, looking straight into the other man's eyes. They weren't more than a breath away from each other. Their fingers were intertwined, palms pressed closely together.

As the train slowly resumed its interrupted journey, the other man drew back from the touch, pulling his hands away and wrapping them around himself. He averted his eyes. Brian missed the contact immediately. It was as though he had unexpectedly been given back a piece of himself that he didn't know he had been missing, and now it had been snatched away from him again. It was almost as though –

He didn't dare finish the thought.

Instead, he focused on securing his bag around his neck. He collected his clogs from under a seat, wincing at the state of his socks.

As soon as the train came to a halt at the station, the dark-haired man quickly got up and made for the door, still not looking at Brian. He was too slow to react, and couldn't believe the other one was leaving, not after all that, after _that_ had happened –

"But I didn't even get your name –" he tried.

It was too late. The other man was out of the carriage, out of reach, and the doors were already closing again. He was gone.

**

"Right this way, come meet my mates –"

Roger wove his way through the small crowd that had gathered at the makeshift bar, someone new in tow.

"Sorry, Deaks –" he said as he almost knocked over a glass in his progress.

"The beer's dreadful here, but what isn't?" Roger laughed. Brian looked up from his drink when Roger touched his shoulder in friendly acknowledgement.

"Brian, there you are. I don't think you've met Freddie, have you?"

He turned towards the newcomer. And he blinked when he found himself looking straight into a pair of startled dark eyes.

**

Freddie became a part of the crowd, most often there when they met up. But he always kept his distance from Brian, looking at him warily. He always turned his face away the moment he saw that Brian had noticed, and that his attention was on him.

A couple of times, Brian tried to get closer to Freddie. Just to exchange a few words. Get some kind of an explanation, maybe, for what had happened on the train. If Freddie thought anything had happened, that was. If he had felt that too, that strange feeling of knowing each other, and that sense of connection that was over so quickly.

Most of all, Brian longed to _know._ Had it all just been in his own head? A product of his own overwrought imagination?

But they never talked. Never properly.

Sometimes Brian thought he felt Freddie's eyes on him, boring into him. Scorching. But when he tried to catch Freddie's gaze, he was always already deep in animated conversation with Roger, or with John. It was strange how quickly Freddie seemed to make friends with the others. He had no trouble talking with them, Brian thought, not without bitterness.

One night, just as they were leaving, ready to head off to whatever they each called lodgings these days, the warning sirens started up. They had stopped in the street to talk for a moment when panic struck. There was no time to think. Roger took hold of Brian's sleeve, shouting something about a friend living just two streets over. Brian saw a quick flash of Freddie's wide eyes, and then they were running.

A frantic dash and three sets of stairs later they found themselves in a ratty two-bedroom flat. They huddled in the doorway as the sirens still blared outside, listening nervously as Roger negotiated with the owner of the flat. Eventually he secured them grudging asylum for the night. There were half a dozen other people already there, too, settling down wherever they could, sharing blankets and body heat.

Brian wandered around in a dazed state. Afterwards, he was never quite clear on the sequence of events. But somehow, he ended up sitting on a thin, lumpy mattress in a miraculously secluded hallway corner. And Freddie was sitting next to him. He had no recollection of where Roger had got to. Brian was looking and looking at Freddie, unable to take in anything else. And this time, Freddie made no move to get up, or to put distance between them. 

And then Freddie was leaning closer to him – or had he moved towards Freddie himself? Freddie's hand was on his shoulder – his own hand was touching the ends of Freddie's black hair, cautiously, reverently. Their breathing was loud in the sudden silence that had fallen between them. 

"Are you sure about this?" Brian asked, voice low.

"I'm sure," Freddie whispered. "Brian –" 

He couldn't say who made the final move, in the end. All he knew was that they were kissing. Freddie's lips were on his, and then his tongue was inside Freddie's mouth, touching, exploring, slowly at first. Freddie made a small sound that sounded almost like a sob at the back of his throat. And then he moved so he was facing Brian, almost in his lap. 

There were tears on Freddie's face. Or was it his own? It was difficult to tell. There was wetness at the tips of his fingers, and he tasted salt on his lips.

He couldn't get enough of the feel of Freddie's skin on his own. Or of the spicy scent that always lingered around him. It felt like an addiction, something he simply had to get more of.

And time stopped, stood still, and ceased to have any meaning at all. Nothing else existed but this. Nothing else was important.

Afterwards, Brian piled all of their clothes on top of the thin blanket, cradling Freddie to his chest, trying to stay as close to him as possible. Freddie sighed, softly, and nuzzled closer to Brian, nearly asleep already.

But when morning came, Brian woke up alone. The other side of the mattress was long cold, and the night before seemed like a distant memory, or perhaps like an impossible fever dream. He got up, wearily, gathering his clothes, and headed out into the grey dawn.

**

Freddie didn't want to think about it. It was just – it wasn't supposed to be real. It wasn't supposed to happen. So it couldn't have, could it? 

If he was honest with himself, he was afraid. It was as simple as that. He was frightened of what it might mean, and terrified of the power that Brian seemed to have over him. And of what he himself seemed to have over the other man. It was easier to chalk it all up to a momentary madness. Just shock and stress and – and it was natural to try to find comfort where you could, wasn't it? It didn't need to have anything to do with any impossible stories that turned your world upside down and – 

He didn't want to deal with the implications. Of everything that would follow if he accepted this. 

He didn't want to be there. That was the bottom line.

"What's the point," Freddie muttered, his voice sullen even in his own ears. "I can't do anything. If it's the wasting illness, there's no cure. You know that as well as I do."

"Come on," Roger said. "It's not contagious or anything. But he might be dying. You could try. That's not too much to ask."

Roger's eyes were shrewd. Of course he had noticed what had happened that night when – what had happened between them. He would have. For a mad moment, Freddie hated Roger's perceptiveness, the way he saw and understood everything around him without ever seeming to make an effort. And his dogged determination to not let things lie.

John stood by the door, his nervousness apparent only in the way his hands kept moving. Now he took hold of the doorframe; now his hands were tapping out a faint rhythm on it.

"Go on," he said, voice wavering only a little. "I'll keep watch. It's been perfectly quiet. But you should get a move on, now."

It wasn't as though they were doing anything wrong, as such. Not yet. Well, apart from breaking the curfew if they stayed out here much longer, that was. But they were just visiting a friend. That's all it was. Hardly a major transgression.

But the sense of doing something illegal, something dangerous, still lingered. The government's armed forces came down mercilessly on anything that they perceived as a possible threat. Or anything that wasn't fully in their control. People thinking too much, or too independently. Anything that challenged the official explanation of how things were got dealt with swiftly and ruthlessly. However harmless they seemed to the casual observer. And even here, in this dilapidated part of town, Freddie knew that there were watching eyes. Anything out of the ordinary would be reported. And if it turned out that any of those things that he was very carefully trying not to think about actually were true and not just wild fantasies – well. People had been known to disappear and to never be heard of again.

And he had never wanted to have a part in any of this. He shouldn't be here. He didn't want the responsibility – 

He followed Roger down a steep flight of stairs and came out to a dingy, cramped cellar space. A thin beam of dusty daylight, what little there was left just before nightfall, made its hesitant way down from a small window near the ceiling. A dark shape in the far corner resolved itself into a makeshift bed, and a hint of curls that told Freddie exactly who its occupant was. There was a faint rasping sound of laboured breathing.

An indeterminate noise, almost a whimper, escaped Freddie's throat, and then he was kneeling by the side of the bed. All thoughts of anything else, of right or wrong, of whether something was possible or not, vanished like they had never been.

"Brian?" He whispered.

Hazel eyes filled with pain blinked open, and met his own.

"How are you?" Freddie asked. His hand reached out to brush back stray curls from Brian's forehead, without stopping to consult his brain on the way.

"It hurts," Brian breathed. 

"Oh, darling," Freddie said. He couldn't help the endearment. 

And then his fingers touched Brian's cheek.

He didn't want it to be true. He didn't want it to work. He wanted it to work – 

It was like – he had spent so long carefully building a wall around himself. And now it crumbled. It melted like ice in the sun. Warmth spread from his fingertips up his arm, but he could feel it the difference it made to the cold skin of Brian's face, too. Brian sighed, and it sounded like something deep inside him broke – or perhaps something was being mended.

It felt good to be touching him like this. To be connected. It felt natural. Why had he ever tried to deny himself this?

No matter what this was. No matter how impossible. 

It still hurt – so much – to see Brian suffering, but it was so much better to be there, to be touching him, than it had been just moments ago.

Brian opened his eyes again, and Freddie couldn't be sure, but he thought it looked like they were a little clearer.

"What was that? Was it you?" He whispered.

"Shh, it's okay," Freddie said. "Just rest, now." He fingers were still touching Brian's face gently, his palm pressed comfortingly against his cheek. He moved to take hold of Brian's hand, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to lose their skin-to-skin contact.

Behind them, Roger smiled softly and made his way out of the cellar on silent feet.

Freddie didn't know for certain what was happening. He didn't know how long he had been perching by Brian's side, watching him. Brian seemed to be breathing a little easier now, but there was no way of knowing anything more than that. After a while – minutes? Hours? – Brian woke from his uneasy slumber. He struggled to sit up, ignoring Freddie's protests.

"No, Freddie, I have to tell you this," he said. "No matter what comes next, I need you to know. I can't bear to think that I'd – that I didn't make it and I'd never have told you."

"You don't need to tell me anything," Freddie said, soothing. "You should just sleep. We'll talk later. It's okay."

"I – there might not be a later, Freddie. No, don't say it. I'm not a fool and neither are you."

Freddie pressed his face close to Brian's shoulder, for a moment, to steady himself.

"I don't know why this happened to us," Brian said. Freddie felt the vibration of his voice through his shirt. "You know what I mean. I don't know why it's you, or why now."

"Don't worry about it," Freddie tried.

"No, let me say this, Freddie. I'm sorry if you feel like I've – I know you never wanted this."

Freddie felt his cheeks burning. He lifted his eyes to Brian's.

"It's not – Brian, it's not like either of us chose it. It's not like there was something we could have done," he said.

"I still feel responsible," Brian said. "But I can't regret it, Freddie. Even if – even if this moment is all we have. When you're here – I don't care about anything else. I know it won't last. Whatever this is." 

He took a shuddering breath. "But I'd rather have the moment than not to have known you at all. Rather than the – the darkness of the world without you."

"I'm here now," Freddie whispered. "That's all that matters. Whatever happens, I'll stay with you." He leaned down again, to touch their foreheads against each other. 

It felt like a promise. Something far more momentous than the words themselves. He felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders, not unpleasantly. He felt the warmth of their connection in his chest, seeking comfort in that, clinging on to hope as Brian closed his eyes again, and smiled.

**

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Do leave me a comment!


End file.
